


Black At The Center

by banditess



Series: Tales from the Keep [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Ardyn Being A Creeper, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, M/M, Mild Gore, Mindfuck, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9135235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banditess/pseuds/banditess
Summary: A fill for the FFXV Kinkmeme. The prompt was:"Chapter 13 mindfuck - Ardyn/Noctis (sort of) - I thought Chapter 13 was too nice to Noctis"...well, there were more details requested in the prompt, but they would give the plot of the fic away, so you'll just have to read and find out. Suffice to say, if Noct's angst post-Altissia was too much for you, this is not your fic. :)Beware of spoilers for the entire game.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I took some liberties here with Ardyn's mindfuck abilities. Thankfully, the source material is -- at least at the time of this fic's posting -- very vague about what all he is capable of doing with his magic/body full o'daemons, so I don't feel too bad about it. :')
> 
> Title comes from the Blaqk Audio song of the same name. I listened to a lot of industrial/EBM/Depeche Mode while writing this, and found it all (un)surprisingly fitting for both Noctis and Ardyn. Be still my little goth heart. "I have lived in darkness for ages," indeed.

Noctis had heard somewhere that bad things came in threes. If so, he thought, getting separated from Ignis and Gladio at the entrance to Zegnautus Keep, having his beloved car blown to smithereens, and being cut off from his Armiger should have settled it -- but no. He could swear the Bad Shit was coming in _multiples_ of three instead of just _stopping_ at three: Three rogue, axe-wielding MTs, wandering each hall, their movements inhumanly twitchy. Three Imps, clawing their way out from the depths of the Beyond to get him each time he tried to take refuge in a side room. Three spells -- Death, Alterna, Holy -- “gifts” from the Ring of the Lucii...The spells were Noct’s only offense against the darkness wishing to do him harm, but the Ring weighed heavy on his hand. _Existentially_ heavy. Each time he used it, he could hear whispers in his head from what felt like somewhere far away, and he was trying very hard not to think about exactly what happened to each daemon that _poofed_ into nothing with each cast of Death, or the hordes of MTs that got sucked into the Beyond each time he let loose with Alterna.  
  
_Do daemons even_ have _souls?_ he wondered, as he made his way down yet another of the Keep’s corridors. He’d been walking for what felt like hours, but the monotony of his surroundings made it almost impossible to tell how long he’d actually been wandering.  
  
“Oh, _Noct_ , what a curious thing to ask -- I didn’t think you were interested in daemonology. We have _so much_ in common,” Ardyn’s voice purred through the loudspeaker. Had...had Noct said that out loud? He didn’t think he had. Noct shook his head lightly -- he had to keep it together. For Prompto, and Gladio, and Ignis. And for Luna.  
  
He clenched his fist as he thought of her, and the memory of seeing Ardyn gut his betrothed like no more than a common fish on the ruined canals of Altissia came unbidden to his mind. _Ardyn_ , Noct thought. _Ardyn, and his stupid hat, and his stupid scarves. His entire ridiculous outfit, in fact. He’s the whole reason we’re in this mess. Why on Eos did we ever trust that Imperial scumbag to start with?_  
  
“‘Scumbag’?!” Ardyn shouted over the PA system, “Why, Noct, I’m _hurt_. You _must_ know that _everything_ I have done, I did for _you_?”  
  
There was a note of strange, unexpected sincerity in Ardyn’s voice that made Noct’s breath hitch momentarily. The Chancellor was a manipulative bastard, that much was a given, but...What exactly did he mean?  
  
Noctis was so caught up in his thoughts that he forgot for a minute to watch his step, and the helmet of an inactive MT unit collapsed in a heap on the floor made a clanging sound as his boot collided with it. He gasped and jumped back a few steps, surprised by the sound.  
  
_Gods. Maybe Prompto isn’t the panicky one of us after all,_ Noct thought. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself. Then he scooted sideways around the ragdoll MT, turned to face down the corridor, and tried to keep moving, but his right foot had caught on something. He looked down his body, down his leg, to his foot.  
  
It wasn’t caught on something. It had been caught _by_ something. The MT whose helmet he’d kicked was grabbing onto his ankle with both hands, its red eyes staring both at him and somehow directly _through_ him. Noctis started to scream, but the MT dragged him to the floor as he opened his mouth. He hit the ground with a thud, the wind going out of him as his back met the cold floor, his head knocking against it with a crack, sending Judgment Bolts across his vision. What little breath he could spare, he used to moan in pain.

Much faster than Noct would have expected from a supposedly decommissioned unit, the MT was on top of him, pinning him down, axe in hand. The MT swung its axe down, trying to go for Noct’s head. He reached up instinctively to block it and suddenly he remembered: Ardyn had cut him off from his weapons. He caught the jagged, awful blade full force with his right arm instead, felt the sickening stick of sharp steel in bone as the impact vibrated through his skeleton. Blood began to run down his arm and drip onto his face, stinging his eyes.

Then he heard metallic scraping noises coming from the direction of his legs, and, having spent the past umpteen hours hiding in cramped nooks to get away from the things that made exactly that sound, realized that an active MT had stumbled upon them. _Fuck_. He tried to focus on casting Death, but the MT straddling him was pushing its axe further and more firmly into the flesh and bone of his arm, trying desperately to break it and get through to the more vital bits beneath. The blade sliced through muscles, shredded tendons. Nausea roiled through his gut. The whispers in his head from the Ring weren’t helping either. The scraping was louder now, and Noct could feel the vibrations of the MT’s axe dragging along the ground through the floor. It wouldn’t be long til it got to them.  
  
Lucky for Noct, the rogue trooper made a fatal error: it reared back in an attempt to take his arm clean off. As it did so, Noctis bucked his hips, knocking the MT off-balance and allowing him to free himself from beneath it. Fully focusing on the power of the Ring, he cast Death on the MT, watching it waste away before his eyes and vanish into a cloud of dust. He turned around to look for the active MT he had heard shuffling down the hallway -- 

\-- and came face-to-face with not one, but _two_ active MTs. _Bad shit always comes in threes._

He didn’t understand how, but these two were way faster than any Magitek Troopers he had ever encountered in the past. One of them was behind him before he could even blink. His heart was pounding -- what was he supposed to do now? The Ring’s spells took too much damn time to cast, and the MTs had him surrounded with nowhere to run in the narrow corridor. He couldn’t even feel the presence of the Gods with him to summon one of the Six. Ardyn had taken that from him too somehow, the bastard.  
  
The trooper before him raised its axe, and Noctis knew he would die in that corridor, without rescuing Prompto, without reuniting with Gladio and Ignis, without avenging Luna and his father. He started to tremble -- not a very princely thing to do, but he did it all the same. The troopers brought their axes down, carving into his shoulders, into his chest. He felt the pain and fire and _anguish_ as they hacked away at his body. The MT behind him dropped its axe, grabbed his already injured arm and _wrenched it backwards_ \-- Noct screamed as his shoulder made a loud, revolting _pop_ , and his arm dropped, completely limp...and then it all went black.

  
  
“Noct? Your Highness, are you _feeling_ quite alright?” Ardyn’s voice slithered over the intercom.   
  
Noctis’s eyes snapped open. He stood in the middle of one of Zegnautus Keep’s many corridors -- he had no idea which, at this point. Suddenly, he recalled what had happened, and he checked his arm and patted down his body for injuries...but found none. Or at least, certainly none as grievous as the death wounds that he was certain had been inflicted on him just a moment ago. _Keep it together, Noctis. For them._  
  
“Oh _yes_ , Noct. Do hold on. Your friends are not the only ones waiting for you,” Ardyn chuckled softly and then gasped ever so lightly, letting a moan escape into the microphone to echo down the halls of Zegnautus.  
  
Was he...pleasuring himself over the loudspeaker? _What the fuck_. Noct swallowed hard. He hated the son of a bitch, but hearing Ardyn’s desire over the intercom was making his body react automatically. _Now is so not the time for a hard-on, Noct. Really. Forget your cock and keep moving._  
  
After what felt like an eternity, and a thousand more corridors, and what must have been a small legion of daemons, and another keycard upgrade to the next security clearance, Noctis arrived at a dormitory.  
  
_Finally. A chance to rest,_ he thought, as the doors opened with a _swoosh_.

“Noct,” said a gruff voice before him.

He couldn't believe his eyes. “Gladio? Man, am I glad to see you.” 

“That so?” the tall man scoffed, “Why, so we can just sweep everything under the rug? So you can just take me back into your life like nothing happened?” 

“What? Gladio, what are you --”

Gladio slowly walked towards Noctis. Behind Noct, a faint _beep_ and and louder _ka-chunk_ told him that the dormitory door had locked itself.

“All you want -- all you've _ever_ wanted -- was to use me up til you've had enough and then discard me. Not just me -- _all of us_ ,” Gladio was right in front of Noct. He was imposing even in a good mood, but at that moment, with the anger and hurt in his voice, Noct could swear he stood an extra foot taller. 

“Dude, what's the big idea?” 

Gladio reached out with one of his big, behemoth-like hands, grabbed Noct by the throat, and shoved him up against the wall. _Hard._ Gladiolus watched without emotion as his prince gasped for air while he spoke, “We're just servants to you, so what does it matter, right? We're expendable. That's what you were thinking when you pushed Prompto off the train, wasn’t it? You were done with him, so it was time for him to go, huh? That it?”

Noct flashed back to the moment on the train, to Prompto screaming as he fell away into the wilderness outside Tenebrae ...And now poor Prompto was being held captive somewhere in this godsawful place. All because of him. 

“And what about Ignis?” Gladio roared, tossing Noct across the room by his throat, sending him flying against one of the angular metal bunks. His shoulder blade caught a corner and pain bloomed across his back as he slid to the floor. He coughed, trying desperately to regain the breath Gladiolus had choked from him. 

“More than me, more than Prompto, more than Luna or anyone at the Citadel -- Ignis put up with more of your whiny, self-centered, royal _bullshit_ than anyone. And what did he get for his loyalty to _Your Highness_?” The honorific came out as a hiss.

Gladio moved towards Noct, who sat crumpled on the floor. Somehow, even being physically assaulted by MTs wasn’t as painful as this verbal onslaught from his friend. He felt himself frozen to the spot, his heart racing. He could feel his pulse pounding against his bruised throat.

“Even now, Iggy puts on a brave face...but you know he blames you for his maiming. We all do. If it weren’t for your incompetence, Ignis would still have his sight.”

Gladiolus brought forth his greatsword, levelled the flat blade under Noct’s chin and tipped up his face with it, forcing the Crown Prince to look him straight in the eyes, “If you hadn’t been so self-absorbed all these years, if you had taken your training seriously, maybe Luna might still be alive, too. Face it, Noct: Everything you touch, you break.”

All Noctis had to defend himself with was the Ring, and he just...he couldn’t do that to Gladio. Even if he was being a dick. Besides, he was right. All of Noct’s years of being chickenshit, of his adolescence spent trying to hold his birthright at arm’s length instead of facing it head on, had led to this. And when it came down to it, maybe Ardyn was right, too: Without his friends, without the powers of his bloodline, he was nothing. Useless. Even _with_ his powers, he hadn’t been able to save Luna. He couldn’t restore Iggy’s sight. He had lost Prompto. And now it looked like he had lost Gladio too.

_Worthless. What good is a king who can’t protect the ones he loves most?_

“Any last words before I put you out of your misery?” Gladio pressed the tip of his greatsword against Noct’s throat. Numb with grief, he barely felt the pinprick as his blood traced a line down to his collarbones.

“Just...just get it over with,” Noctis muttered. He looked up into the eyes of his Crownsguard, his brother, hoping to see a glimmer of the old Gladio before he died.

Gladiolus’ visage did not change from the hardened, expressionless mask, even when his sword had sliced all the way across his liege’s throat. The world began to fade to black as the blood poured from the wound, life force pouring out with it. The last thing he saw was the look of utter disdain on Gladio’s face, just before he turned and walked away. Leaving Noct to die alone in an Imperial fortress. So far from home...

 

Noct jerked awake and gasped for air like a man nearly drowned. He grasped at his throat and found...nothing. Not a scratch, not a bruise. Looking around, he noted that he was still in the dormitory, on the floor leaning up against one of the bunks -- exactly where he had _died_. Where...where _Gladio_ had _killed_ him. _Fuck._ But he was very much alive, and Gladio was nowhere to be seen. For better or worse, he supposed.

He realized he wasn’t alone in the dormitory. Noct scrambled to get to his feet and run, only to find that one of his ankles was chained to the leg of the bunk he’d been sitting beside. He tripped and fell face-first to the floor, breaking his fall with his hands. As he rolled over, Noct was somehow completely unsurprised to see Imperial Chancellor Ardyn Izunia looming over him, hands on his hips and a shit-eating grin on his face. 

 _And here is Bad Thing #3_.

“Where’s Gladio?! And how am I even --?” Noct grabbed at his throat, where just a moment ago his own warm, red blood had been gushing out.

Ardyn pouted and crossed his arms, “Really, Noct, not even a ‘Hello, nice to see you’? Hmph. Well, we can work on your _manners_ later. As you can see, your _friend_ has left you. As for your injuries: I took care of them, don’t you worry. I’ve something of a...hidden talent for first aid. How did you imagine you survived those MTs, earlier?”

Something wasn’t adding up, but it was hard for him to think clearly. It felt like Ignis had used his brain as a whipped ingredient in some baked dessert.

 _Oh, Iggy…_ The memory of his friend baking an endless parade of sweets -- that had ceased once Ignis had gone blind -- caused a sharp pang of mourning in Noct’s chest. Those days were gone now, and it was all his fault.

“What do you _want_?” Noct growled, scowling at Ardyn.

“The only thing I have _ever_ wanted, Your Highness,” Ardyn grinned back at him, “is to guide you in your quest. Have I not proved that to be so? Have I not unlocked doors for you? Given my own troops and transportation for your use? Why, I seem to recall even paying for lodgings for you and your friends, once upon a time. And seeing as how those friends seem to have given up on you -- and I mean, can you really blame them, after all of the torment you’ve caused them? -- well, suffice to say...I’m really all you have left now, aren’t I?”

Noctis tensed. Logically, he knew he absolutely should not, under any circumstances, trust this man. He had murdered Luna. He had made Noct push Prompto from the train. He was clearly up to some shady shit in the Keep, although Noctis wasn’t quite sure exactly what just yet. Oh, and there was also the fact that he had taken Noct’s weapons and chained him to the bed, couldn’t leave that out.

_And yet…_

He recalled Gladio’s words: _Face it, Noct. Everything you touch, you break._ He wasn’t wrong. All of Noct’s happinesses in life had turned to ash, and the only thing they all had in common was _him_. He wasn’t worthy of his Crownsguard -- his _friends_. He didn’t deserve to have them by his side, after everything he’d put them through. Ardyn was right: Noct really wouldn’t blame them for choosing their own lives over his. Matter of fact, they should probably get as far away from him as possible.

Noctis stood up from the floor and brushed off his fatigues, taking care to mind the chain binding him. He was suddenly very conscious of how much taller Ardyn was than him -- the Chancellor was nearly as tall as Gladio.

“Ardyn.” 

“Yes, Noct? You know, I do _love it_ when you use my name.”

“Can you...get my friends out of here safely? Drop them off in Lestallum or something?”

“Are you certain that’s wise, Noct? You’re so very weak without them -- why, you’ve nearly died several times this evening alone without their support.” 

“I just...I don’t want them to get hurt because of me anymore,” his gaze dropped to the floor. 

Ardyn closed the distance between them, put one hand on Noct’s shoulder and used the other to tilt up the prince’s chin. Noct had started to cry, his tears making trails through the dirt on his face. Ardyn wiped at a falling tear with his thumb, “There, there, Your Highness. All you have to say is the magic word, my dear.”

“... _Please_.”

The Chancellor shuddered slightly, “Oh, Noct! You are exquisite, truly,” he ran a finger along Noct’s jawline as he spoke, “Of course, I would be delighted to assist the Crown Prince of Lucis in his time of need. Give me a few moments to make preparations and I shall return post-haste.” 

Ardyn started to walk past Noct, towards the swooshing doorway. Noctis sniffled, wiped his face with the back of his hand. 

“Hey,” Noct called after him, fists clenched at his sides. 

Ardyn’s scarves swirled around him as he turned, “Hmm?”

“How can I trust you, after everything you’ve done?”

Ardyn laughed at that -- a bitter laughter that unsettled Noct. Although, to be fair, most things about the Chancellor were unsettling.

“Noctis Lucis Caelum, you are royalty. And not just any royalty, but a _Lucian King_. So if there is one thing you should learn well, it is that as such, there is _no one_ on this entire Star you can genuinely trust. Even when you have given your all for your friends, for your _people_...they will find a way to let you down. So do what you want and trust who you will, Noct -- in the end, you may not even be able to trust yourself.” 

Noct was stunned into silence. How could the Imperial Chancellor -- a _Nif_ \-- possibly understand what he was going through? And yet there was a dark appearance to Ardyn’s face; the sad, tired look of a man who had been to hell and back...possibly more than once.

Just as quickly as the sour expression had appeared, the jester grin was back, “That all being said, lad, I’m happy to release you from your bonds, as a show of good faith. Well, I say ‘good faith,’ but...surely you wouldn’t quit this place without retrieving your precious Crystal, now would you?” 

Out of one of his voluminous, ruffled sleeves, Ardyn produced a small key. He tossed it at Noctis, who caught it, but did not immediately bend down to unlock his fetters. He watched Ardyn’s back as he left the room, coat and scarves billowing behind him. The door swooshed shut.

Noct looked at the key in his palm, closed his fist tightly around it. He stooped down and fiddled with the key in the keyhole, felt the manacle drop from his ankle with a _thunk_ when it hit the sweet spot. He was exhausted, but between being totally creeped out by the surroundings and wanting to be alert in case Ardyn (or something else sinister) returned, he couldn’t bring himself to lay down in any of the beds. Instead, he collapsed onto a nearby chair. Despite his best efforts to stay awake, he passed swiftly into sleep.

The Chosen King dreamt of his Crownsguard. And, in a room not so far away, watched over by another man who would have been King, Noct’s Crownsguard dreamt of him.


End file.
